“Don’t call me that,” Serrano replied offhandedly before looking at the others. “Alright. Myself, Phillip, and Paul will head inside to clear the place. Nicholson, I want you, Zhang, and Simmons to head around back. Obviously, make sure there isn’t anyone back there we need to be worried about or deal with, but also take a few minutes to make sure we can safely park the vehicles back there, preferably out of sight.”
“Got it,” Nicholson replied, nodding. Turning to Zhang and Simmons, he nodded. “Let’s go.”
Together, the three of them walked to the corner at the right side of the building’s front, passing by a number of abandoned flat carts and a handful of regular shopping carts. Though the parking lot was largely empty, one old and two new trucks remained. Each was visibly empty, with one or both doors hanging open, and all three were covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs. Surprisingly, there were no bodies in or around the older Ford truck, but both of the newer ones held the rotting remains of the men who had been driving them. Nicholson had Zhang do a quick trip around each of the trucks, looking for the remains of the third driver, but there was no sign of the owner (who Nicholson assumed was a man, for completely stereotypical reasons).
Stopping at the corner of the building, Nicholson gathered the two soldiers close to him. “Okay. Let’s keep in mind that at least one person is unaccounted for. Based on the amount of time that those men have been sitting there and the condition of all three trucks, we can probably assume that the driver of the third truck is long gone. Even so, stay vigilant. Head on a swivel. Don’t assume things are clear. Verify they are. Maintain silence so we can hear movement. Simmons, watch our backs.”
“Hooah, Staff Sergeant,” Simmons replied, nodding.
Nicholson stepped forward and turned the corner with his gun held at the ready. Zhang followed behind him, with Simmons following last, occasionally turning to check behind them as she walked. The side of the building was lined by a sidewalk that sat between the building and a long row of empty parking spaces. They were able to traverse the area quickly, seeing nothing other than a few torn and spilled bags of fertilizer on the ground.
Reaching the corner at the rear of the building, Nicholson paused once more, took a few deep breaths, nodded at the others, then rounded it quickly, with his gun still held high. He nearly pulled the trigger at the sight and sound of a loose sign banging against a pole as it flapped in the wind, but caught himself in time. Sidestepping, he worked his way around a few giant polypropylene bags filled with sand or different sizes of gravel.
The large metal rolling door centered on the rear of the building was closed with a lock holding it shut, but the door itself was bent outwards in several places, as if someone inside had tried to use something heavy to break through.
‘Not a good sign for Serrano and the others inside,’ Nicholson thought. Grabbing his radio, he keyed the mic twice, sending a signal to the SEAL. After a second, the man’s voice came through the radio’s speaker.
“Go,” Serrano’s voice said quietly.
Assuming the other man was trying to minimize noise, Nicholson lowered his voice. “Metal rolling door at the back of the store is banged up, looks like someone was trying to break out.”
“Copy.”
The radio went silent, and Nicholson ordered the others to continue their perimeter check. Pausing near one of the four-foot high bags of gravel, Nicholson evaluated the area as a whole. Plenty of space for the military vehicles. Either side of the building presented an escape route, if necessary. Near the sliding metal door was a regular door, which would provide easy access to the rear of the building in the morning. ‘Perfect,’ he thought to himself, before moving to catch up with Zhang and Simmons. As he closed the gap, he heard the young woman mutter, “Damn, this shit is weird.”
“Easy there, Lisa. Stay focused,” he ordered.
“Hooah, Staff Sergeant,” the woman replied, shaking her head as if to clear it.
Deciding to lighten the mood a bit, Nicholson said, “You know, if we weren’t on a mission, this place wouldn’t be a bad place to set up as a base camp.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure, check it out. This area back here is completely open,” he began, nodding towards the sparsely vegetated dirt area behind the structure, “Good for maintaining a standoff distance. The front is the same way, with that big parking lot.”
Zhang nodded in response. “Yeah, good point.”
Keeping his rifle trained in front of him, Nicholson continued. “You’ve also got this gravel and sand here for setting up machine gun nests. And I’m pretty sure the keys to that forklift over there are somewhere inside.”
“Okay, so you can fortify it. Then what?”
Nicholson shrugged. “Well, for starters, there’s probably a ton of fertilizer inside. You could set up an actual garden in the store's outdoor area up there,” he said, pointing ahead, towards the high-fenced area that marked the north side of the building.
“Not bad,” Simmons chimed in from behind them. “I’m assuming there’s probably seeds inside, too.”
“Yeah,” Nicholson conceded. “I mean, Tractor Supply Company? They have to carry more than that. Probably more like a Home Depot inside, or something.”
Without being told to do so, Zhang sped up her pace slightly, moving in front of the others as she neared the fenced-in part of the building. Suddenly, she extended her left arm downward, showing them her palm. Nicholson and Simmons stopped in their tracks as Zhang brought her left hand back up to grasp her rifle and began to sidestep around whatever she saw on the inside of the fence. Once she had covered the distance, she lowered her rifle and shook her head. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a breath, then motioned for them to join her.
When Nicholson reached her side, he saw what had dismayed her so: the bodies of three men, two women, and a young boy laid on the ground near the fence. At least some of the group appeared to have comprised a small family, though in this day and age, it seemed foolish to assume anything. Nevertheless, near the body of a large white man with dark hair that had been styled into a mullet was a short, thin Asian man. Underneath the bulk of a heavyset Mexican man was a small Asian woman, and in her arms was the young Asian boy. A white woman in a red apron with TSG on the front laid on her back nearby, her eyes open and staring towards the sky. Farthest from the fence, a tall, muscular Black man in tight jeans and cowboy boots laid face down on the concrete floor of the garden center, a long-handled fire axe buried in his back.
Based on the Black man’s body position, Nicholson assumed he wasn’t the one who’d attacked the group. So where was the man or woman (or child?) that had attacked them?
“Shit,” he said aloud, before bringing his radio to his mouth.
Before he could speak, gunfire erupted inside the building.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Day 1
“Momma, can we get some candy today?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll have to see what they have,” Kristen Maxwell replied, taking another breath of the dry air that was characteristic of Oklahoma in the summer. Looking down at her four-year old son Jaxson, who held her hand tightly, she forced a smile. ‘Pretend like everything is fine,’ she told herself.
“I hope so,” her daughter said, pulling her mother, and by extension, her brother. “We should try to get there early, before they run out,” she reasoned.
“Easy, Whit,” Kristen chided, using the girl’s nickname. Her daughter Whitney had grown used to it, and it had been commonly used in their home, at least prior to the outbreak. Was anything common, or dare she say, normal, anymore?
‘Keep it together, Kris,’ she told herself.
Up ahead, a large family with three small children and two more that were close to Whitney’s age appeared from the connecting street and turned to head in the direction of the food distribution center. Her daughter’s eyes widened in concern. Looking back at her mothe
r, her brow furrowed. “I feel like they’re going to run out!” she protested. “Can I run there and keep us a spot in line?”
Looking down at Jaxson’s short legs, Kristen sighed. It would take them at least ten minutes to get to the food warehouse, and as a result, they’d likely be towards the end of a long line, waiting for what seemed to be diminishing quantities of daily rations. It wouldn’t be long before the candy supply would be expended, and when it was, there would be little room for complaints. No one would be able to make an argument that candy, of all things, was a necessity.
But for now, that little handful of Jolly Ranchers hard candy was something that brought Whitney happiness, and given that there was so little to be happy about these days, Kristen hardly felt bad about letting the girl have it.
It was hard to argue against the girl’s desire to rush ahead, and she knew it. The infected were far away, kept outside the Protective Zone by trained soldiers with powerful weapons.
Nodding, she said, “Okay, sweetie. Be careful.”
“Okay, mommie!” the eleven-year old replied, before releasing her mother’s hand and springing forward into her somewhat awkward run. Watching her, Kristen couldn’t help but smile. The girl’s legs seemed almost too long for her body, something she’d inherited from Reggie, her biological father.
More like, ‘sperm donor.’
The man had smiled and said all the right things after hearing of Kristen’s pregnancy, saying he loved her, that he’d be there for her, that they’d have a beautiful child and raise it together.
He’d gone to work the next day and never come back, leaving Kristen with no choice to crawl back to her parents and beg for them to take her back in, less than six months after she’d made a huge scene, ignoring their wishes and moving in with a man twelve years her senior.
Whitney had been born two months prior to Kristen’s nineteenth birthday, and though her friends had promised to drive down to see the girl as soon as ‘a long weekend came around,’ apparently the multiple three- and four-day weekends that came and went weren’t enough for them to take a break from the fun they were having in college to visit.
‘Thank God for Michael,’ Kristen thought, looking down at the child she’d had with him. Though Jaxson was short now, in all likelihood he’d be just as tall as his father, who’d stood six foot two.
Reaching up, Kristen wiped a tear away as she thought about how she’d been forced to shoot the man in the chest at close range, killing him almost instantly. Though it hurt everyday, and though she’d struggle to live with the decision she’d made for the rest of her life, she knew she’d done the right thing - there’d been no choice. At the time her husband had already killed the girl’s grandparents while she and the children had been at the store, and from the crazed look on his face, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill them, too.
‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,’ she said to herself.
Turning the corner she finally saw the large, open area in front of the converted high school gymnasium. As expected, the line of people waiting to receive their rations was huge, three- to four-people wide and well over two hundred yards in length.
Sending Whitney ahead was the right idea. Now she just had to find the cheerful, gangly young girl.
Smiling at others in line as she walked past them, Kristen’s eyes scanned each person, looking for Whitney’s pink and purple shirt and/or the butterfly hair clips she wore. When she began to near the front of the line, she grew concerned.
‘She couldn’t be this far forward, could she?’
Reaching the very front of the line, she paused, confused.
“Ma’am, you need to wait in line,” one of the military men said.
“No, I know, I just - ”
“Back of the line, lady!” someone yelled.
“Okay,” she replied, putting up her hands defensively. “I’m just looking for my daughter.”
‘Calm down, Kris, you probably just didn’t see her,’ she reasoned with herself. She walked back along the line, calling her daughter’s name as she did, pausing every time she needed to look closely between groups of adults to ensure she wasn’t missing the girl.
“Whit? Whitney!”
As she approached the end of the line, she felt a cold, greasy pit forming in her stomach. When she reached the end, she panicked. Picking up Jaxson, she ran back towards the front of the line, pushing past people carrying their small boxes of rations along the way, earning several curse words in the process.
“Excuse me!” she pleaded, getting the attention of one of the uniformed personnel.
“Yes, Ma’am?” a young soldier replied.
“Have you seen a young girl with light brown hair, wearing a pink and purple shirt, about this tall?” setting her son down, she held her hand at her shoulder height.
The man shook his head slowly, then shrugged. “Don’t think so, Ma’am, but there’s been a lot of people today.” Looking down at his clipboard, he added, “Close to three thousand already.”
Feeling helpless, Kristen looked around, then back at the man’s clipboard. “Wait! Can you see if anyone picked up food for the Maxwell family?”
Sighing, the man flipped through his paperwork until he found the page he needed. His finger traveled slowly down the page as he scanned through the names. Suddenly, he drew back. “Two Maxwell families listed here, Ma’am. One is Kristen, with two kids. Is that you?”
Kristen nodded.
“Not picked up yet, but the other Maxwell family did pick up,” he finished, cocking his head.
“And?” Kristen asked, confused.
“Maybe we marked the wrong block?” he replied, shrugging. “Like I said, there’s a lot of people here.”
“My daughter wouldn’t just leave by herself…”
“But you said she came here by herself,” the soldier responded, crossing his arms in front of him. “Tell you what, why don’t you go back to your residence hall, see if she’s there. She probably picked up your food and went back to find you. When she didn’t see you, she decided to wait for you back there.”
“But I - ”
“Sorry, Ma’am, but I’ve got a lot of work to do here. Check that first, and then come back if you don’t find her.” With that, he turned away and returned to his spot behind the table, where he began working through the list of names once more.
A young female soldier came over and handed her a box of rations. “Here, Ma’am. You don’t need to wait in line again.”
“Thank you,” Kristen replied, feeling anything but hungry. Turning away, she numbly walked back in the direction she came from, holding the box in one hand and Jaxson’s hand in the other. She didn’t need to make it back to her room in Residence Hall Twelve to confirm what she knew in her heart.
Her daughter was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Day 1
Colonel Walters was, as his father had always said, steaming mad. The preacher/’Social Matters Liaison’ was already twenty minutes late to the meeting Walters had ordered, and the level of disrespect was beyond anything Walters had been forced to accept since he was a Second Lieutenant.
“Any sign of him, Sergeant?” he called out again.
“No, Sir. Want me to look out front, see if I can see him?”
Walters nodded to himself. Ferrell was a great assistant. “Yes, thanks. That’d be great.”
“Hooah.”
After a few minutes, the Sergeant stuck his head in Walters’s office. “He’s almost here, Sir. He just came through the gate.”
Walters rolled his eyes. “Finally,” he said, shaking his head. Looking over at Ferrell, he raised his hand. “Not directed at you, Sergeant.”
The young man nodded. “Hooah, Sir. All good.” With that he began to pull his head back, but suddenly paused. “Want me to tell you’re busy? Make him wait a bit?”
Walters smiled broadly. Raising a single finger, he
pointed at the Sergeant. “You’re good. Let’s have him wait for ten minutes. Tell him I’m on the line with Virginia.”
“Yes, Sir,” the young man said, closing the door behind him.
Leaning back in his chair, Walters grabbed the handheld Sudoku magazine he was slowly working his way through. He analyzed the series of numbers before adding 1’s, and then 7’s to the grid before he decided he’d made the man wait long enough. ‘Besides, he might have a legitimate excuse,” he reasoned.
Rising from his chair, he worked his way around his desk, went to the door, and opened it. Jeremiah sat on the bench across from the doorway, flanked by the four tall, muscular men who seemed to accompany him wherever he went.
“Mister Clark, please come in,” Walters said, nodding as he held the door open.
Standing up, Jeremiah gave a quick gesture to men, indicating that they should remain where they were. “Thank you, Sam, and again, please call me Jeremiah.”
“Sure thing, Jeremiah,” Walters replied as he walked back to the chair behind his ornate desk. Sitting down, he motioned for the man to take the seat closest to the desk.
“Thank you,” Jeremiah replied, “and I’m so sorry I’m late. The people had a lot to say this afternoon.”
Walters looked at him questioningly. “Really? Like what?”
Jeremiah smiled. “Nothing I can’t handle. Additional church services, for one thing. They also want the sports facilities and parks open. I told them the parks could probably be opened, but that the sports facilities might be a challenge, due to the water restrictions.” Looking at Sam, he winked. “Can’t have a bunch of stinky people running around.”
Walters shrugged. “I mean, they’re working out anyway...I see people out jogging all the time. I don’t think the sports facility would have that big of an impact. Of course, they need to understand that we can’t water the grass, so once it dies, it’s gone.”
“Really? Well, that’s great, Colonel,” Jeremiah said, smiling. “Oh, they also want the main downtown library reopened. Can that be done?”
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 10
